Slander
by Deana
Summary: Rumors hurt, and Aramis is in too much pain already. (My entry in the Fête des Mousquetaires contest for August.)


**SLANDER**  
A Musketeer story by Deana  
Takes place after the Savoy massacre.

My entry in the Fête des Mousquetaires contest for August!

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"You're a coward! You ran away from the fight, that's why you survived!"

Aramis just stared, saying nothing, unable to believe—nearly unable to _understand_ —the words that had just been said to him.

 _Coward?_

Aramis had _never_ been called a coward in his life. On the contrary, he was often scolded because he didn't have enough self-preservation.

 _Ran away from the fight?_

Aramis never, _ever_ ran away; he always dove right in, to protect and save the innocent. During _that_ fight, he'd fought with all the strength that he possessed, until he'd been stabbed and struck on the head. No one could fight while unconscious.

 _That's why you survived!_

 _Marsac_ was the reason that he'd survived. Marsac had been his devoted friend when he'd dragged Aramis away from the attack…but then had committed the ultimate betrayal by leaving him there to die.

Porthos jumped out of his seat and grabbed the smirking Red Guard by the front of his doublet. "You take that back!" he snarled.

"Why?" said the man. "Only one of twenty-two came back! The reason is obvious."

Saying no more, Porthos punched the Red Guard and dropped him to the floor. "Let's go," he said, heading over to Aramis and taking him by the arm.

Athos grabbed Aramis from the other side, and they helped him stand from his chair and led him out of the tavern.

Aramis said nothing, which didn't surprise the others. Ever since the massacre, Aramis had been mostly quiet; not speaking unless spoken to. He was still weak and in pain, and would sometimes get lost in flashbacks. His recovery was happening very slowly, disappointing them all.

"Do they really believe that?"

Athos and Porthos looked at Aramis, surprised that he'd spoken without prompting.

"You know how the Red Guards are, Aramis," said Porthos. "They love to insult us and start trouble."

"You cannot listen to anything they say," said Athos.

Aramis gave no reply and they carefully helped him mount. After watching him for a moment to make sure he had balance, they mounted their own horses and slowly rode back towards the garrison.

"It's not true," Aramis suddenly said.

"Of course it's not," said Porthos, stopping his horse to look at him. "We would never believe that."

"We know you, Aramis," said Athos. "The Red Guards know that it isn't true either. This is simply an excuse to bother you."

"Slander is what it is," said Porthos. "Pay it no mind."

Aramis was quiet for a moment, before saying, "They were all dead when I woke; all of them."

Both Athos and Porthos inwardly cursed the Red Guards for starting trouble.

"How could he say that?" Aramis continued. "He wasn't there. He has no idea what happened."

"Don't think about it, Aramis," Athos said, hoping to prevent another flashback from taking hold of him.

Aramis raised a hand to his aching head. "How can I not? I see it while asleep, I see it when awake. It's always there!" He closed his eyes with a wince. "I didn't run."

Athos reached over and took the reins from Aramis' other hand as Porthos grabbed onto Aramis' arm, lest he agitate himself into losing his balance.

When they rode into the garrison, Aramis' condition had deteriorated. His head was lowered and he had both hands fisted in his hair. He occasionally mumbled something that was too quiet to hear, and Porthos had to support him when he was too shaky to walk. They put him to bed and sat in the chairs that stood beside it.

As expected, the nightmares came, but _unexpected_ was the fever that arrived soon after. They placed a wet cloth over Aramis' forehead and spent the night rewetting it. Their friend's sleep was restless; he feebly moved under the covers, frequently mumbling words that they couldn't understand.

"Could this have happened because of what the Red Guard said?" Porthos asked Treville, who'd come to see how Aramis was doing.

Treville sighed. "Aramis is fragile right now, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. His mind can't handle what happened in Savoy, and what the guard said was incomprehensible. He simply can't take it and I wouldn't be surprised at all if this is how his body is reacting to the stress."

"Should we fetch a doctor?" Porthos asked.

Before Treville could answer, Aramis suddenly made a noise and moved his head slightly.

Athos was sitting beside him on the bed patting the cloth over his face. "Aramis?" he said.

There was no reaction.

Treville leaned over to check his fever. "It's not high. I think we can wait before subjecting him to another doctor."

The others nodded. Aramis had been examined by three different doctors after Savoy, and he'd been fed up by the amount of care that he'd needed.

Less than ten seconds later, Aramis stirred again, feebly moving a hand as if trying to grab something.

Porthos took hold of it. "Hey, it's all right," he said, unsure if Aramis could hear him.

Aramis squeezed his hand, his breathing speeding up.

Athos held the cloth to his forehead, hoping that it would prove comforting somehow, but Aramis shivered from the contact, making a soft sound of distress.

"That guard better stay away from Aramis after this!" Porthos growled.

The night passed very slowly. Aramis eventually calmed and slept deeply. His fever didn't rise, and by breakfast time, he was finally reopening his eyes.

"Mornin'," said Porthos, rewetting the cloth. "How you feelin'?"

Aramis said nothing, blinking weakly.

"Can you drink some tea?" Porthos asked.

Aramis still didn't answer.

"Athos went to get breakfast," said Porthos, laying the cloth over Aramis' forehead. "Are you hungry?"

Aramis blinked again. "What happened?"

Porthos didn't expect that question. "You had a fever. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know."

Porthos was further surprised. "Do you remember us taking you out of the garrison yesterday?"

Aramis thought for a moment. "No."

So he didn't remember the incident at the tavern, then. "Oh. That's all right, just rest."

Athos soon returned and though Aramis didn't eat, he let them feed him the tea.

That evening, Porthos left Aramis in Athos' care and went to the tavern, searching for the Red Guard who he'd hit the night before.

"What are _you_ doing here?!"

Porthos turned around and spotted him sitting at a table with some of his friends. He walked over and looked down at him where he sat, arms crossed. "Aramis doesn't remember what you said last night."

The guard rolled his eyes. "I'm sure."

"I said that he _doesn't remember_ ," Porthos repeated. "And it better _stay_ that way. If you say it again, there will be trouble."

The Red Guard stood. "Yeah? There can be trouble right now, if you want."

"Do you even _know_ what happened?" Porthos asked. "The musketeers were attacked in the night, while they slept. They fought and died, and Aramis was hit on the head and stabbed. How does an unconscious man _hide?"_

The guard hesitated.

"Marsac saved him," said Porthos. "He must've dragged Aramis into the woods, because that's where Aramis woke, lyin' in the snow, bleedin' and freezin'. Marsac left him there and ran off. Did you know _that_ part? Did you know that crows came to eat the bodies, and Aramis had to watch?"

The guard looked away, at his friends.

"He still suffers horrible pain, and has flashbacks," Porthos went on. "He passes out, can hardly eat, and is mournin' _twenty friends_. Through all that, he's sufferin' the hurt of bein' abandoned by a man that he thought of as a brother. Could you imagine bein' him right now? Athos and I are tryin' to bring him out of _despair,_ and you have the _nerve_ to start that rumor and say it to his _face_ , the first time we actually managed to get him out of the garrison?!"

The guard didn't know what to say.

"He was so upset, that he had a fever all night," Porthos told him. "Your slander stops _now,_ or I'll do more than _hit_ you next time."

The guard said nothing, but he nodded and sat back down.

Porthos walked out and headed back to Aramis' room at the garrison, to find him still asleep.

"Where did you go?" Athos asked.

"To deal with the problem."

Athos instantly knew what he meant. "Has it been nullified?"

Porthos nodded. "It has." He reached over to feel Aramis' forehead, and found cool skin. "His fever's gone."

Athos checked for himself. "Yes, thankfully."

Porthos nodded, with a happy sigh. "Do you think he'll ever remember what that guard said?"

"No," said Athos. "I don't. This entire situation is too much of a horror, and I fully believe that his mind just threw the memory away."

"I hope you're right."

Aramis' sleep wasn't as restless that night, and the next morning, he was alert again.

"How you feelin'?" Porthos asked.

"Fine," Aramis answered.

Porthos made a face at that. "Fine, eh? That means that you can eat somethin', right?"

Aramis made a face back at him, before yawning. "Do you still plan to drag me to the tavern tonight?"

Porthos' eyebrows shot up; Aramis still didn't remember that they'd already gone. "Yes," he said, going along with it so the memory would hopefully remain hidden.

"I'll eat _then_ ," Aramis said.

"But that's not until tonight," said Porthos.

"I can wait; I'm not hungry."

With a sigh, Porthos threw his hands up into the air. Aramis was losing weight and it was upsetting; how was he supposed to recover his strength?

Porthos also nervously wondered if any Red Guards would be in the tavern.

Night seemed to take forever to come; they'd succeeded in getting Aramis to drink some broth and eat a piece of bread that was hot from Serge's oven for lunch, but he wouldn't eat anything else.

Once suppertime approached, Athos and Porthos got Aramis dressed and helped him mount his horse, riding slowly to the tavern. They helped him dismount and held him up through a dizzy spell, before helping him inside.

Porthos looked around for the Red Guards and didn't see them, to his relief. They sat Aramis down at the closest table and ordered wine and baked chicken, which was Aramis' favorite meal.

When it came, they only let Aramis have half a cup of wine.

"The last thing you need is to get even dizzier," said Porthos.

Aramis couldn't argue that. He'd promised to eat as much as he could, and took a bite of the chicken.

The others watched him, pleased to see that he liked it.

A few minutes later, the group of Red Guards walked in.

Athos cleared his throat, and after Porthos looked at him, he gestured with his head towards the men.

Porthos spotted them, and was relieved when they sat at a table across the room.

Aramis ate very slowly. He still had intermittent nausea, and eating was a chore. Warm broth helped to settle his stomach, so he had a mug of it near his hand.

Eventually, the food was cleared away. Aramis hadn't eaten a full meal but he'd done his best. It appeared to have taken its toll, as he looked pale and exhausted.

Just as Athos and Porthos stood to get Aramis up, the guard who'd insulted Aramis stood from his table and came over.

"Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," said Athos, when Porthos was too stunned to answer.

"I came to inquire as to your health," the guard said to Aramis. "I hope that you are doing better."

Aramis looked slightly surprised. "I am, thank you."

The guard nodded; shocked that Aramis really did seem to have forgotten what had happened. "If there's anything that I can do, don't hesitate to ask."

"You have our thanks," said Athos, when Porthos still seemed speechless. "It is much appreciated."

The guard nodded. "Have a good night."

"You also," said Aramis.

They watched as the guard went back to his table, and Athos and Porthos helped Aramis up and got him outside.

The ride back to the garrison was quiet, and Aramis didn't speak again until after they'd put him to bed.

"That was nice of him." He was asleep before they had a chance to answer.

Athos looked at Porthos. "Yes, it was. What did you tell him?"

Porthos exhaled slightly. "Everythin'…I told him everythin'…and he listened."

THE END


End file.
